The Consulting Vampire
by firestorm26c
Summary: You sit back into your chair, cupping your hands together over your crossed legs. "Tell me..who are you?" You intriguingly question as your eyes glimmered in captivation. You hear Sherlock snicker from the shadows. His fingers repeatedly ghosted their way up and down the stem of the glass he held. "I'm a consulting detective. The only one in the world. I invented the job."
1. Shall we begin with Introductions?

The echo of your fingers beating along the fabric of your armchair reverberates throughout the silence of the room. You stare into the distance- candlelight evidently highlighting your surroundings. You watched its flames weave in and out of one another-dancing a million symphonies.

You stare at the man sitting across from you. His composed body telling a thousand stories without a word being spoken. You watch his fingers trace the lip of his wine glass, claw-like nails tapping along it's surface.

The man slowly tilted his head, looking at you. His dark blue eyes and pale skin illuminated as the candlelight danced across the surface of his skin. His every detail became visible causing you to gasp. The man simply chuckled at your reaction, dipping a finger into his wineglass- twirling the thick substance inside.

As the man sucked the succulent liquid from his finger- you stared at him. His black trench-coat enveloped the lounge he sat on, dark curls draped over his face as he remained composed- not saying a word.

You clear your throat, reluctantly staring at him. His eyes mesmerized you as you felt their swirling galaxies stare right into your soul. You could feel it being ripped out of your inner self as his claws gouged into the material he sat on, almost growling impatiently at you.

As you fought past the invisible hands grasping your throat you began to speak- "Shall we begin with introductions?" You persuade as nerves evidently rolled from your every word.

The man momentarily stopped twirling the thick liquid inside his glass, resting it by his side. As his fingers slid down the stem of the glass he looked up at you- distinguishing your every detail. "Holmes. Sherlock Holmes." you hear him speak, voice deep with a familiar British accent.

You narrow your brow at the familiar name. It's one you have heard before- but where completely escapes your understanding. As you open your mouth to speak you hear Sherlock's voice promptly cut in. "I know what you're thinking and the answer is yes."

You sit back into your chair, cupping your hands together over your crossed legs. "Tell me..who are you?" You intriguingly question as your eyes glimmered in captivation.

You hear Sherlock snicker from the shadows. His fingers repeatedly ghosted their way up and down the stem of the glass he held. "I'm a consulting detective. The only one in the world. I invented the job."

"A consulting detective? What does that mean exactly?" You questioned, leaning forward in anticipation.

"It means when the the police are out of their depth- which is always- they consult me."

You leaned back into your chair, relaxing your body as you scoffed into the silence. "Police don't consult amateurs" you reply in amusement.

You hear his snicker resurface into the air as he placed the fragile wine-glass onto the nearby coffee table. He proceeded to placatingly steeple his fingers underneath his chin, eyes blown wide as they connected into your own.

The brightness of the moon shone through your window, highlighting his every feature. You could feel him studying you as his mind momentarily conjured up a million different deductions. He read you like an open book- words flowing off his tongue as if he was reading the text from a paperback. "When I met you for the first time yesterday I said "Afghanistan or Iraq?" You looked surprised."

You crossed your legs; hands nervously grasping the fabric of your chair while you spoke. "Yes. How did you know?"

"I didn't know. I saw. The way you hold yourself, says military. Your conversation as you entered the room- said trained at Bart's, so army doctor- obvious. Your face is tanned, but no tan above the wrists. And then there's your limp." He paused for a moment, staring down at your wooden stick securely propped up by your side. Your clammy hands took a protective hold on it- as if he was going to steal it from you.

He glanced up from your stick, looking you in the eyes as he hastily continued his deductions. "Your limp's really bad when you walk, but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That suggests the original circumstances were probably traumatic- wounded in action then. Wounded in action, suntan- Afghanistan or Iraq."

You froze inside your chair, nerves notably riddled with shock. You begin to open your mouth to speak- but nothing comes out. Your voice escapes you, almost as if the wind howling through your open window carried it away.

You pull yourself out of your tangent mind, shaking your head back into reality. You hear him laugh at the notion, almost as if it was amusing for him to watch. You straighten out your posture, being unsure whether or not that was a compliment or an insult- but you soon brush it away and relax your body with time.

"So, what else does your mortal being want to know about me? Surely you have questions." he spoke, taunting you with his deep voice and mischievous smirk.

You feel visible droplets of sweat producing along the line of your brow; you reach for your handkerchief to wipe the liquid away- your nerves were undoubtedly starting to get the better of you. "Questions you ask? Oh, I have many questions." you somehow manage to cough up the confidence to say.

Sherlock looks at you with fascination gleaming in his eyes. He repositions his hands onto the armrest, fingers grasping the suede material underneath him as he patiently waits for your voice to kill the eerie silence looming between the both of you.


	2. Tales of the Damned

Eyes remained locked onto one another as you both sit in silence, waiting for an appropriate time to speak.

As you cleared your throat you saw Sherlock's brow narrow from the repulsive interruption.

"I remember you now- Sherlock Holmes. The Great Consulting Detective. You're retired now, am I correct?" You hastily question out of nervousness.

The corner of Sherlock's lip almost forms into a snarl as he fights to hold it back. "I'm not retired. I still work privately. I just try to keep out of the press these days." He said.

You accidentally let a smirk escape your face as you stare at him.

"So, tell me, what kicks does a Vampire get out of solving crimes?"

"Kicks? Well, everybody gets bored at some point." He lazily replied.

You gently tilt your head out of curiosity. You're no longer writing down notes anymore. You put your notepad and pen to the side as you slowly find yourself becoming engrossed in his every delightful detail. "If I'm not mistaken…. you used to have a partner...am I correct?"

You watched as his face suddenly turned blank. He stared at the floor below- face petrified as he subconsciously adjusted himself against the back of his chair. He felt waves of emotion and torment flood through him like a tsunami. "Yes- I did. He wasn't just my blogger... he was my everything. And now... he's gone."

Your jaw gaped open slightly. The last thing you were expecting was such a heart-filled response. You made an attempt to quietly clear your throat as you felt yourself becoming riddled with nerves. "So, John Watson was his name, yes?"

"Quite correct I'm afraid."

You took hold of your handkerchief again and rapidly dabbed it over your sweaty face. Sherlock watches you with intent as he notably rolls his eyes in annoyance. "John Watson- do you care to talk to me about him? About the adventures the two of you had? Surely you have some tales to tell."

"Tales?" He snickered into the air, almost as if he was amused by the concept. "I have many tales. But do you consider yourself worthy enough to hear them? What's so special about you? You're just a human after all."

You assertively lean forward in your chair, you stare at Sherlock with intent. You can almost read his mind as his glorious ice blue eyes stare right into your soul. "Well, if you don't tell your tales to me...who else will possibly hear them?" you timidly question.

He furrowed his brow and leaned forward. You watch as he steeples his fingers underneath his chin. "Mhm. You're a curious child, aren't you? But I want you to tell me this: if I tell you my tales, my stories- what do I get in return?"

The question shoots through you like an ice cold bullet. His eyes continue to stare into you as he grasped invisible hands around the length of your throat. You somehow manage to fight through your constriction, coughing out a few words of respect.

"I'll let you feed from me." You reply perhaps a bit too hastily.

Sherlock's eyes glimmered in sudden desire. He stares at you differently now, almost as if he was staring at prey. "You will let me feed? What a brave little ant you are. You're willing to sacrifice yourself just for some tales?" He paused for a moment as he snickered into the cold, tense air. "Well...if that's the case- where should I begin?"

"From the beginning. The very first day you met John Watson. I want to know every detail."

Sherlock smirked into the air as the moon continued to beam down onto his face. "I have been here for a very long time-"

"Tell me. I want to know." you swiftly intervene without regard to his speaking.

He glares at you, retracting his fangs in spite. "Please, do not interrupt me again. Otherwise you will be dead before this interview even has the chance to begin."

You sit back into your chair, gulping as you nervously clasp your hands against the suede beneath you. "My deepest apologies." you say. "Please do carry on."

"The first day I met John Watson- It was one hundred years ago." he said. "And we had no idea what we were getting each other into at the time."


End file.
